


Higgins

by AnotherAverageAuthor



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, i wrote this in like an hour please dont judge, its a big italian bonanza, the entire higgins family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 12:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17549828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAverageAuthor/pseuds/AnotherAverageAuthor
Summary: “can someone make a sprace one shot of spot meeting races family and its rly big Italian and loud and they’re all yelling at eachother but it ends all cute”Why not?//my friend is in love with sprace and im i sucker so i wrote it





	Higgins

**Author's Note:**

> also im sorry if the italian is wrong, i might be italian but i aint fluent

Spot didn’t understand a lick of Italian.

Sure he’d picked up the important stuff from Race, _ciao, mangio, merda,_ but he didn’t know enough to hold a legitimate conversation.

As far as he knew, his entire family came from America, on both sides, so it wasn’t like he’d ever needed to learn. If anything, he was only a slight part Irish. Yet, somehow, through the power of a one Racetrack Higgins and his uncannily sexy ability to get whatever the fuck he wanted, Spot found himself on their bed, alone in the apartment, desperately trying to learn as many phrases as he could in Italian from the stupid green owl.

_“La donna è mia madre.”_

“La donna,” Spot repeated under his breath, tapping the sentence into the translator.

He would’ve done it earlier, but he would be dead before Race knew what he was doing. He was Spot _fucking_ Conlon. If it got out that he was sat there, talking to an app about how many apples there were in a basket, he would never live it down.

Plus, he just wanted to surprise his boyfriend for once.

Spot heard the front door open and slam shut, the sounds of feet moving into the kitchen. He hurriedly switched off the iPad and moved out into the main room of the apartment, trying his best to be as casual as possible.

“What happened?”  
  
_Ok, maybe a little too casual._

“Nothin’. Just waiting for you, ‘sall.”

“I know that walk. What are you doing, Spot?” Race asked, dropping his wallet on the counter and staring.

“I’m just antsy to leave.”  
  
“Ok, good. Cause we have to go. Like now,” Race said hurriedly, checking his watch with a furrowed brow.

Spot grabbed his coat and let Race lead him out the door and down to his battered jeep.

The more they drove, the more furiously his heart pounded in his chest. He wasn’t nervous. Spot Conlon didn’t get nervous, he was more… agitated.

When Race had asked him to dinner with his parents, it was a cause for slight concern. When Race offhandedly mentioned that there might be a few relatives joining, it was a reason to be worried.

But when they pulled up outside a cozy looking Italian club and Spot counted at least twenty other cars, all with variations on _Higgins_ somewhere in the number plate, he was more than a little bit nervous.

_No, agitated._

Whatever the reason, Race took Spot’s hand as they exited the car, Race lead him through the entrance even though it should have been the other way around because God be damned if Race thought that Spot needed reassurance.

But Spot realised as soon as they walked through the door that the hand wasn’t entirely for his benefit.

The entire function room of the club was decked out in Italian flags and maps and who knows what else, and it was packed with people.

Nothing the Duolingo owl had taught him could prepare him for that.

Everyone seemed shorter than average, which was a slight relief. Short and plump and loud. So loud. The whole room was echoing with yells of grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, cousins, second cousins, the whole kit and caboodle.

“Fucking hell, there’s a lot of them,” Race yelled, but even so, Spot barely heard him.

“Shouldn’t we be quieter?”

“They can’t understand much English, it’s fine.”

But soon enough, whether they understood what was being said or not, the Higgins's noticed Spot and Race.

Cheers went around the room as people pointed and clapped, waving and shouting.

“Tony!” One of the old women yelled, throwing her arms around Race.

“Zia Selina,” Race shouted over the din. He had to bend down to reach her. “Come va?”  
  
“Bene. Molto bene!” She gestured to Spot, who couldn’t help but stand awkwardly behind Race. “Chì è questo?”

“Questo è Sean, mio campangio.”

The entire room froze. Everyone turned to stare at them, and it was suddenly clear to Spot what had just happened.  
  
He didn’t really need to understand the words to know what Race had just said.

“Have you come out to them yet or is this reaction purely based on my appearance?” Spot whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Put your thinking cap on and ask me again.”

Everywhere he looked, Spot was met with the stares of Race’s family. He didn’t know them well enough to tell what they meant, but most looks of hatred were universal, and he knew them pretty well.

But the more he searched, the less he could find.

After a solid minute of nothing, to Spot’s enormous surprise, one of the men in the back let out a valiant cheer, and the entire room erupted in applause.

Looking at Race in shock, Spot saw his body light up in joy, a giddy smile spreading across his face. He gave one last, grateful look before he was pulled into the familial mosh pit, shouts of _“sono così orgoglioso di te”_ and _“lo stavamo aspettando per sempre”_ rising above the cheers, even though Spot had no clue what they meant.

Someone pushed him forward and he came to a stop, disoriented, next to Race. In front of them were three trestle tables that had all been shoved together, and which were covered in the most beautiful looking array of food that Spot had ever seen.

Race, seeming more accustomed to the smorgasbord that lay in front of them, held out his hand to Spot, which he gladly took, more than slightly overwhelmed by the culture shock.

They sat down at two seats next to each other and immediately, the rest of the family followed suit, filing down beside them until all three tables were full.

No moment was spared as immediately, people began passing plates and yelling down the table to each other, laughing and joking in Italian.

The whole atmosphere was light and airy and Spot couldn’t stop marvelling at how happy everybody seemed. He was about to turn to Race to tell him as much when a young boy to his left poked him on the shoulder, holding a deep plate.

“Gnocchi?”

Spot took the plate, barely getting a chance to thank him before he ran off, joining his mother at the other end of the table.  
  
“Race, this is amazing,” he said, spooning some of the potato-ey goodness onto his own plate.  
  
“You really think so?”

“Bacio!” Someone yelled.  
  
Race blushed, which made Spot laugh.

“You gettin’ soft on me, Higgins?” He asked, gesturing to his floppy mess of a boyfriend.

The table broke out into chants of _“bacio, bacio, bacio,”_ mostly from the younger kids, but a few adults were yelling as well.

“You don’t know what they're saying, Conlon.”  
  
“Well, what are they saying?”  
  
Instead of answering, Race grabbed his jaw and gently tugged him forward, their lips crashing together. Shocked into submission, Spot went along with it, trying not to fall off his chair completely.

His eyes fluttered closed, just as Race’s head tiled up, ending the kiss on a bittersweet note, laughing at Spot’s ever-growing pinkish tinge.

“They wanted us to kiss.”  
  
At that moment, the entire room seemed to melt back into his vision. A man next to Race was jokingly slapping him on the upside of his head, muttering something about _“proprio devanti al cibo,”_ parents were yelling at their kids, presumably for the peer pressure and grandparents were cheering.

A hand closed around Spot’s and he was tugged up from his chair. Looking up, he almost tripped as Race pulled him away from the table, ignoring the catcalls from the more teenaged cousins.

They stumbled into the bathroom down the corridor, and before Race could even shut the door, Spot had him against a wall, his hands slipping under Race’s shirt, mouth working wildly against his.

“Hang on,” Race breathed out, leaning his head against the wall slightly. “Can you-“  
  
“On it,” Spot whispered, kicking the door shut with his foot.  
  
“Cool.”  
  
Race’s fingers tangled themselves in Spot’s hair, haphazardly throwing the cap he’d been wearing to the ground.

All the stress, the excitement, all of the emotion of the day poured out of Spot into a not-so-dainty display affection, and Race groaned appreciatively.  
  
He shook his head and pushed Spot back.

“Not here. We can’t here, there are too many kids.”  
  
“You make it hard sometimes.”

“Soz,” Race muttered. Spot turned to the mirror above the sink and pushed his hair flatter against his head.

 “I think my reputation took a beating today.”  
  
“It’s fine. You’re still the strongest, toughest, most intimidating, sexy-“  
  
“Racetrack Higgins, I swear to God.”  
  
“-beautiful, all mighty, powerful person I have ever met. And I love you,” Race said, coming up behind Spot and snaking his arms around his waist.  
  
Spot straightened his tie as he turned from the mirror.

 “I love you too,” He muttered, leaning forward to kiss Race, more gently this time.

Spot Conlon might not get nervous and he might not understand Italian, but one thing was for sure.

Spot Conlon knew when he was fucking _whipped._

“No homo, though.”

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATION:
> 
> "Hi, eat, shit,"
> 
> "The woman is my mother."
> 
> "Aunt Selina, how are you?"
> 
> "Good, very good. Who is this?"
> 
> "This is Spot. My partner."
> 
> "I'm so proud of you!"
> 
> "We've been waiting for this forever."
> 
> "Kiss."
> 
> "Kiss, kiss, kiss."
> 
> "Not in front of the food!"


End file.
